I wake up as the sunlight falls on my face from the gap between the curtains. Nobody expects growing old to be fun, but one can not quite be prepared for it either. My joints, especially the knees are painfully stiff. Slowly, i sit up, looking down at the floor as my eyes adjust to the light. I walk over to the window to draw the curtain and let the soft sunlight into the room. My eyes fall on the picture on my bedside table. She looks so much like her father. I miss her. Maybe I should call her today. In a few hours. She must be asleep.
I go to the door and open it. The newspaper and packets of milk are lying carelessly on the doormat. I clutch the door handle as I bend down to retrieve the milk and newspaper. This is getting harder everyday. Maybe I will stop reading the newspaper and drinking milk altogether. But I might need the calcium for my bones. Never mind. I can think about this another time. It is time to go boil the milk and make myself some breakfast.
This is my favourite part of the day. I sit with my tea and paratha in my backyard on days when the weather is as beautiful as it is today. The sunlight is soft and there is a cool breeze blowing across the backyard, rustling the leaves and sounding the wind-chimes. My chair waits for me in the shade of the guava tree. He had planted it just after we got married. We spent many such morning here, in the shade of this tree, before destiny parted us forever. But this is not a day for such thoughts. I take a bite of the paneer paratha. Then I hear it. The sweet tlee tlee, that invariably accompanies these meals and good weather. The little bird flutters down to the bird bath and begins to peck on the seeds left over from yesterday. The brown of its feathers changes to a darker hue as it gets wet. I first heard her a few days after he passed. I was sitting alone under the guava tree, eating my breakfast, sobbing as I saw the vacant chair beside me. That is when she came and sat in it, tlee tlee tlee. She has regularly joined me for breakfast ever since.
As I am about to finish my meal, the bird takes flight, not to be seen or heard until another day of pleasant weather and tasty breakfast. Slowly, I make my way back inside. I put my plate and cup in the sink and go and sit in the chair beside the window. It is time to read the newspaper. The headlines tell me about the arrest of a certain convict. For some reason, the words and letters start to get blurry. I am unable to hold up the newspaper any longer and it falls to the floor. I grab the table with my right hand, breaking my fall, but my left arm and leg seem to be out of my control. This is all happening so fast.
I wake up as the sunlight falls on my face from the gap between the curtains. I open my eyes slowly. I feel awful, unable to move, as if I were weighed down. The door opens and she walks in. My daughter! What is she doing here? I ask her what happened to me, but I don't comprehend my own words. They are not really words now. I am slurring. I understand what she is telling me. I had a stroke. That is why I cannot move. She looks grave. I try to tell her not to worry about me. I think she understands as she smiles weakly. She tells me that I might recover slowly. She inclines my bed and brings me my breakfast. Soup. She smiles and tells me that my breakfast companion is with us. She shows me the bird by my bedside. The little brown bird in a cage, right here in my room. But I don't hear it, no tlee tlee. I try to tell her to free the bird. She does not belong to me, she is my friend, my visitor. I don't know if she understands. She looks puzzled. I refuse to eat my soup till she listens to me. She is getting annoyed. But I manage to explain to her that I want her to free the bird. She still looks angry, but takes the cage out. Through the window, I see her open the cage and the little brown bird fly away to freedom once again. I know I will never hear her song again.
I go to the door and open it. The newspaper and packets of milk are lying carelessly on the doormat. I clutch the door handle as I bend down to retrieve the milk and newspaper. This is getting harder everyday. Maybe I will stop reading the newspaper and drinking milk altogether. But I might need the calcium for my bones. Never mind. I can think about this another time. It is time to go boil the milk and make myself some breakfast.
This is my favourite part of the day. I sit with my tea and paratha in my backyard on days when the weather is as beautiful as it is today. The sunlight is soft and there is a cool breeze blowing across the backyard, rustling the leaves and sounding the wind-chimes. My chair waits for me in the shade of the guava tree. He had planted it just after we got married. We spent many such morning here, in the shade of this tree, before destiny parted us forever. But this is not a day for such thoughts. I take a bite of the paneer paratha. Then I hear it. The sweet tlee tlee, that invariably accompanies these meals and good weather. The little bird flutters down to the bird bath and begins to peck on the seeds left over from yesterday. The brown of its feathers changes to a darker hue as it gets wet. I first heard her a few days after he passed. I was sitting alone under the guava tree, eating my breakfast, sobbing as I saw the vacant chair beside me. That is when she came and sat in it, tlee tlee tlee. She has regularly joined me for breakfast ever since.
As I am about to finish my meal, the bird takes flight, not to be seen or heard until another day of pleasant weather and tasty breakfast. Slowly, I make my way back inside. I put my plate and cup in the sink and go and sit in the chair beside the window. It is time to read the newspaper. The headlines tell me about the arrest of a certain convict. For some reason, the words and letters start to get blurry. I am unable to hold up the newspaper any longer and it falls to the floor. I grab the table with my right hand, breaking my fall, but my left arm and leg seem to be out of my control. This is all happening so fast.
I wake up as the sunlight falls on my face from the gap between the curtains. I open my eyes slowly. I feel awful, unable to move, as if I were weighed down. The door opens and she walks in. My daughter! What is she doing here? I ask her what happened to me, but I don't comprehend my own words. They are not really words now. I am slurring. I understand what she is telling me. I had a stroke. That is why I cannot move. She looks grave. I try to tell her not to worry about me. I think she understands as she smiles weakly. She tells me that I might recover slowly. She inclines my bed and brings me my breakfast. Soup. She smiles and tells me that my breakfast companion is with us. She shows me the bird by my bedside. The little brown bird in a cage, right here in my room. But I don't hear it, no tlee tlee. I try to tell her to free the bird. She does not belong to me, she is my friend, my visitor. I don't know if she understands. She looks puzzled. I refuse to eat my soup till she listens to me. She is getting annoyed. But I manage to explain to her that I want her to free the bird. She still looks angry, but takes the cage out. Through the window, I see her open the cage and the little brown bird fly away to freedom once again. I know I will never hear her song again.
